Free Bonds of Vengeance by David B. Coe

House Curlinte, this was a strange time to do it.
    The click of a boot on stone echoed through the ward. Turning toward the sound, Sertio saw one of his captains approaching.
    “What news?” the duke asked as the man halted before him.
    “We’ve found nothing yet, my lord.”
    “Nothing at all?”
    “We found blood where the duchess was wounded, and crushed grass near some of the stones where the assassins must have hidden. But they left no trail to or from that spot.”
    “Any sign of horses?”
    “None, my lord.”
    “Well, they didn’t fly to the moor. They must have left some other sign that they were there.”
    The man stared at his shoes. “Perhaps they had a boat, my lord.”
    He’d thought of that. The climb from the sea up to the moor and then back down again would have been difficult, but not impossible. If they had a boat, they were gone by now. Sertio and his men would never find them.
    “Yes, that’s possible. Have some of the men search the shoreline when morning breaks. And I want the moor searched again as well, just in case they missed something.”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    “You have someone looking in the villages and inns?”
    The soldier nodded. “Of course, my lord.”
    “Good. Widen your search southward to the north boundary of Kretsaal barony and tell all you meet that there’s a bounty on these men. Five hundred qinde, guaranteed by the duchess herself.”
    The soldier’s eyes widened. “That’s certain to help, my lord.”
    “I hope so.”
    A lone cloud, thin and grey, drifted in front of Panya, darkening the castle for a moment.
    “That’s all, Captain,” Sertio said. “Keep me apprised.”
    “I will, my lord.”
    The man spun away, and hurried back toward the west gate.
    There was a part of Sertio that wanted to believe that the archers had come and gone by boat. He would gladly have traded their freedom for the knowledge that they were far from Curlinte and no longer posed any threat to Diani. But he knew better. Whoever hired them wanted her dead, and these men had seen her ride away from the headlands, very much alive.
    On the thought, Sertio started across the ward toward the prison tower. It was quite late, and even confined to one of the small, sparse chambers, Kreazur was probably asleep. Still, the man would speak with him. What choice did he have?
    Climbing the winding stairs, he saw that nearly all the tower chambers were occupied by ministers and healers, white-hairs all. Some slept. Others stared out of their chambers through the narrow barred windows in the steel doors, their yellow eyes luminous in the torch fire.
    Kreazur was on the top floor, in a chamber by himself. A guard in the corridor stood as Sertio emerged from the stairway, but the Qirsi’s cell remained silent.
    “I believe he’s sleeping, my lord.”
    Now that he was in the tower, faced with the prospect of waking the minister from a sound sleep, Sertio found his resolve wavering. He couldn’t even say what he had come to ask the man, much less why his questions couldn’t wait for morning.
    “Perhaps I’ll return with the morning bells,” he said quietly, turning to leave.
    Before he reached the stairs, however, he heard the rustling of blankets and the scrape of a boot on the stone floor.
    “My lord?” the minister said, his pale features appearing at the small window. His hair looked wild in the fire glow and his cheeks and eyes were swollen with sleep. “Has something happened?”
    “No, nothing. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, First Minister. I’ll speak with you during the day.”
    “It makes no difference, my lord. I have nothing to do come morning, unless you’re here to release me. I can sleep anytime.”
    Sertio nodded, feeling awkward and still not knowing why he had wanted to speak with the man.
    “I take it the duchess is resting?” the Qirsi asked.
    “Yes. The herbmaster gave her a tonic of comfrey and common wort to aid healing and ease her pain. I expect she’ll